


The Undercover Detective Inspector

by Adele015



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adele015/pseuds/Adele015
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced by Mycroft, DI Lestrade must work undercover for the British government, in order to uncover a spy. After months of animosity, will Lestrade and Mycroft realise how they actually feel? Mystrade, with some Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Undercover Detective Inspector

"But that's not my division!" Lestrade shouted, jumping up from his desk chair. The man addressing him suddenly raised his eyebrows with fury. "....sir." He added quickly, returning to his seat.

"I don't care, Greg. You are going to take this case, whether you like it or not." Lestrade huffed at the man. He may have been his boss, but that didn't mean that he loved everything the man said. He was an idiot. Why the hell did he think that he would want to go on this case? It was just some ignorant government guy, wanting someone arrested for getting in the way. It certainly wasn't worth his time.

"But why me? Why not any other poor sod in the yard?!" It was outrageous. Asking one of the most senior detectives in Scotland Yard to abandon his post, to go on some stupid undercover job!

"Because he specifically asked for you." Lestrade sent the man a perplexed look. 

"What?! Why would he ask for me? Who is this bloody man?!" He got sent a reprimanding look. Perhaps he shouldn't badmouth this man. He may be irritating. But it would probably turn out that he ruled the world or something.

"Mycroft Holmes." Lestrade shook his head in annoyance. Trust a Holmes to make life difficult for him.

Lestrade went to protest again, but the man held up a hand to stop him.

"I don't want to hear it Greg. Just bloody well do it and stop whining about it. " and with that, the man had gone. And Greg was left alone, sulking in his office.

"I heard you have to go work for some snobby government type." Anderson sniggered, sticking his head around the office door. 

"Piss off Anderson." Lestrade growled, throwing the man a look so angry that he almost ran away in fear. 

He leant back into his chair, with a big sigh, and ran his hand though his hair. As per usual, it was ticking up in small silver tufts in each and every direction. Despite the greyness of his hair, lestrade's face was almost without wrinkle. His eyes still had the glitter of youth, and the piercing blue shade complimented his hair perfectly. The dark suit he was wearing was of an average quality, and was highly creased, however not damaged in the slightest. The look he wore gave the impression of well earned importance, and the faint laughter lines on his face gave a sense of just how down to earth the man was.

 

**************

 

"Ahh, Gregory. How nice of you to turn up. Eventually. " Mycroft said dryly. They stood in what once must have been home to some kind of royalty. Everything was pompous. The garish wallpaper, the hideous furniture. Even the smell of the place gave the idea of pompousness. Lestrade was standing by the door, annoyed at being sent such a condescending look by Mycroft, who stood opposite, leaning on a cane.

"It's Detective Inspector Lestrade to you." He grumbled, scowling slightly at the man before him. Mycroft Holmes was not dissimilar to his brother. They both had he same piercing blue eyes, that permanently looked as thought they were boring right through you. He too had the amazing ability to make people feel ignorant, and obvious, just by looking at them. However that was where the similarities ended. Where Sherlock's facial features were sharp and prominent, Mycroft's were more rounded. He was a much shorter man, and had a very slight plumpness about him. His almost auburn hair was slicked back, and every single hair precise. He wore an incredibly sharp suit, that was so pristine and perfect looking, that is just added to his pretentiousness. He leant on a cane, not out of necessity, but of habit. He felt it made him seem more imposing. His permanent expression was one of condescending, and over inflated self importance.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Lestrade's boldness.  
"Not many people are brave enough to talk to me like that." He drawled, studying the man. "And normally they'd be right not to. But as I am in need of your services right now, I'll let you get away with it." Lestrade rolled his eyes. The man acted as though he was in control of the whole of Britain. It was ridiculous.

"What do you want from me?" Lestrade asked, eager to get this job over with so that he could return to his normal duties. 

"Well Sherlock seemed to highly rate your skills as a policeman. And I have something that needs....policing." Greg looked shocked.

"Sherlock said that?" He asked, surprised. It wasn't like Sherlock to compliment someone so readily.

"Well....not exactly. John did. But with all of the time they spend together, I'd say they were two halves of the same person. Wouldn't you agree?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow. Mycroft's attempts to connect with him on a personal level were pathetic.

"Yes, anyway. Down to business. I have a bit of an.... information leakage problem, you see. And I need someone to infiltrate the government offices, and find that leak for me."

"....you want me to go undercover?" Lestrade asked, and Mycroft smiled slightly, amused by the brashness of everything the man said.

"Quite simply, yes. I would ask someone else, but I have it on good knowledge that you're trustworthy. And considering you actually work for me, I know that you have to do it." Greg sighed. He really didn't want to have to go undercover for this prick, however as he'd said, he had no choice. Mycroft really did control Britain. 

".....When do I start?" Greg asked, through gritted teeth, and a heavy scowl.

Mycroft smiled smugly. A smile that Greg was tempted to wipe off of his face. He didn't think that it would be this easy to make the man do what he wanted.

"Tomorrow." He smirked at Greg one more time, and flounced out of the room.

"Great." Lestrade muttered, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He didn't think that he'd be able to last very long working for the man. He was insufferable.


	2. An Unwelcome Phonecall

"I bloody hate you." Greg grumbled, as John brought over two pints of poorly poured beer.

"Hey! I didn't tell Mycroft anything about you! He probably just read my blog." John defended himself. Greg just groaned with annoyance, and took a giant gulp of his beer.

"How the hell am I going to work for him? Eugh, I could barely spend five minutes alone with the bloody man, without wanting to punch him!"

"Hey, think yourself lucky. I have to live with a Holmes." John smirked, taking a far smaller sip of his own drink.

"But you got the better Holmes! Not only does mine do that stupid thing where he looks at you an knows your entire life story, he also acts like you're something he's trodden on. I swear, he thinks he rules the bloody world." 

"He kind of does though." Johns smile quickly faded, as Greg glared at him.  
"Sorry!" He said, putting his hands up in a kind of surrendering position. Greg mumbled something along the lines of 'stupid bloody Mycroft', before finishing the rest of his drink in one swig.

"Take it easy there Greg. Do you really want to go to work tomorrow with a hangover? Mycroft would kill you!" Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, before walking over to the bar and ordering himself another drink.

"I suppose, it's not all bad." John said, following him. "I mean, if you do this job right, he'd owe you. Big time. You could get him to give you double holiday time, or he could make sure that your wife gives the money back from the divorce." He placed a hand reassuringly on his friends shoulder.

"Trust me, John, nothing is going to make this job any better." John watched in bemusement as his friend drank an entire pint of rather strong beer in one go, and staggered towards the door of the pub.

"Good luck mate!" John called after him, chuckling as Lestrade turned to give him the finger, before leaving.

 

****************

 

After several failed attempts to get his key into the lock, Lestrade finally managed to get inside of his flat. Pouring himself a large glass of whiskey, he sat himself down on the kitchen table, and surveyed the room. It was dull, to say the least. After having to give his ex-wife the majority of his money during the divorce, his house was now bare. He could only just afford basic furniture, and it left the place looking very empty indeed. He had had to downgrade from his old, rather lovely house, to his dank flat. It only contained three rooms; a dingy bathroom, and cramped bedroom and a room containing the living room, dining room and kitchen all squashed together. 

Perhaps John was right. If Mycroft did owe him after this job, maybe he'd be able to afford a nicer house, one with more than three windows!  
An unknown number flashed up on his phone, as a high pitched ringing interrupted his thoughts. 

"....hello?" The only phone calls Lestrade got were either from his ex-wife, after more money, or from the yard, asking him to work late. It was strange for someone else to be ringing him, especially so late into the evening.

"What are you wearing tomorrow, Gregory?" The man on the other end asked, causing Lestrade to sigh. Mycroft.

"I don't get how that's your business, Mycroft." Lestrade muttered, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Everything is my business." Mycroft said, in a rather creepy tone. What a strange man, Lestrade thought.

"Why exactly are you asking me this?" 

"I need you to dress like someone, in particular. Your normal clothes are quite obviously police. And you need to act like a secretary."

"....I have to be a secretary? No way!" He was a detective inspector! Not some bloody secretary! This was stupid.

"....just do it, Gregory. It would be far easier for both of us if you just do what I say. It is imperative for you to be a secretary. You will be able to observe everyone." The man drawled. His voice was so smooth, it was making lestrade's skin crawl.

"Well what exactly does a secretary wear?" 

"Not black, for a start. Try to be more....flamboyant." Flamboyant? What kind of secretary is flamboyant? Lestrade thought. Oh shit, he wants me to be gay! 

"....you want me to be a gay secretary? A gay bloody secretary?!" He exclaimed

"Precisely. I doubt your acting skills aren't too poor to do that adequately." Lestrade had dabbled with acting in his younger years, but that was besides the point. A gay secretary? Seriously? 

"Why exactly do I have to be gay?"

"Because it will allow you to get close to several of my staff. And it will entertain me." Did he mean that his staff were gay? Did he have to flirt with them?! Lestrade shuddered. He really did not want to act gay. And the fact that Mycroft would be enjoying made it all the more....weird.

"....you're a prick." Was this just some kind of giant joke to the man?

"I'm sending someone round there now to give you all of the things you need. Some new clothes, and perhaps a new hair colour will help you play the part." New hair colour? There's absolutely nothing wrong with my hair! Lestrade thought, outraged. 

"What's wrong with my hair?!" Lestrade exclaimed, receiving only a chuckle in response.  
"....and how do you know where I live? And how'd you get this number?!" It had finally dawned on him just how creepy Mycroft was. He was certain that John and Sherlock wouldn't have told the man this personal information, so how the hell did he get it?

"I know everything about everyone, Gregory. I am the British government." The man drawled, a sinister tone to his voice that once again made Greg shudder.

"You're a bloody creep!" Lestrade exclaimed. Had this man been checking up on him?

"Quite." Mycroft said definitively, hanging up the phone, and leaving Lestrade in stunned silence. This was all a big joke. Right?


	3. Call Me Vince

Following a knock at the door, Lestrade almost fell off of the table, and staggered over to the door, somewhat intoxicated.

"Yes?" He asked, slurring ever so slightly. The man at the door handed Lestrade a large cardboard box, before turning around and leaving. Not saying a single word.

Once he'd torn the box open, he saw, as Mycroft had said, a variety of new clothes. Suits in startling shades of red and blue, rather effeminate patterned shirts, and a pair of heeled brogues. Well, it certainly goes with the gay thing, Lestrade thought, pulling out all of the clothes. At the bottom of the box lay an assortment of other items. Some surprisingly plain glasses, a box of mousy brown hair dye, and a note.

Be at the government building on Bastille Street at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Wear the new clothes. You will be shown what to do. And for God's sake, dye your hair. ~MH

 

The next morning, standing in front of the mirror, Greg glared at his reflection. He had decided on the deep blue suit, with the matching blue flowery shirt. It was like a bombardment of the senses. He'd never seen an outfit quite so bright. At least I look flamboyant, he thought. His once glorious silver hair was now a boring shade of brown, that matched with the hideous shoes he was wearing. The glasses, thankfully clear lensed, were perched on the end of his nose. He just hoped that this would do the trick.

"Bastille Street please, love." He said to the driver of the taxi he called over. The man looked rather uncomfortable around Lestrade. He was sure that he heard the man mutter fag, as he got out of the taxi. He obviously did a better impression of being gay than he thought. 

He walked into the nondescript government building, unsure of what to do next. Everyone else there looked relatively plain compared to him, and he got a few strange looks. He had no idea where to go, or who to talk to. And was about to just leave, when he was approached by a man. It was the same man as had delivered the box the night before.

"Oh, you'll do." He muttered, looking Greg up and down. Was this man....attracted to him.

"Sorry?" The man looked a little flustered that Greg had overheard him. 

"Oh. Ermm.... I meant, good morning." The man quickly recovered, and handed him a folder.

"Here are you instructions. I take it you can use a computer?" The man asked, gesturing for Greg to follow him as he left the foyer. He nodded. "Oh, good. Here is your ID, Mr Jenkins." Vincent Jenkins? Well that certainly went with the whole gay image. Apparently I'm 35, Lestrade thought. How flattering. He couldn't help but smirk slightly. Did he really look that young?

"And here we are, Mr Jenkins. Good luck." As they shook hands, Greg winked at him.

"Please, call me Vince." The man appeared to blush. Greg hadn't realised he was so good at acting gay....

Opening the folder he had been given, he began to read his instructions.

 

Vincent Jenkins.

This is for your eyes only. 

Study everyone in your office. Befriend them. Date them, even. Notice any strange behaviour, anyone acting different. There could be one information giver, or there could be many. It's your job to find them before your six months are up. Good luck

Destroy this once read. Tell no one. 

 

Greg couldn't help but look a little guilty, he'd already blabbed the whole thing to John. But then, Mycroft probably already knew that. 

Once shredding the instructions, Greg decided to survey the office. Leaning back in his chair, he studied each and every person working in the office. There were ten in total, seven men, and three women. They all seemed rather boring and normal, sitting behind their cubicles. They didn't look like government high-flyers or traitors. But that was the clever part. They looked just so normal, that no one would suspect a thing. No one would know what work they were doing.

"Hello, I'm Andrew. Andrew Mulgrew." A man stood before him, offering a hand for him to shake, which he did. He was incredibly tall, with perfectly groomed brunette hair. His stubble was somehow immaculate as well, and his suit was perfectly kept. However, his fake tan was less than subtle. And he had obviously payed a lot of attention to his appearance, as he'd even plucked his eyebrows. Definitely gay, Lestrade deduced. Oh God, I'm sounding like Sherlock!" He thought, smiling at the man. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Greg said, with a wink. "I'm Vincent Jenkins."

"Nice to meet you Vincent." The man said, giving him a flirtatious grin. Lestrade internally vomited. He certainly did not enjoy pretending to be gay. He had no interest in men, whatsoever. "First day?" The man asked, pushing a stray hair back into its place.

"Haha, yeah. I'm rather nervous to be honest." Greg grinned at the man. 

"Don't be! A....charismatic man like you? You'll be just fine." Greg found himself blushing. He'd never thought of himself as charismatic, and it'd been quite some time since anyone had properly complimented him.

"So was there something you wanted? Or are you just here for a chat?" Greg asked, placing his head on his hand, and watching the man.

"A bit of both." The man winked. And Greg suppressed a shudder. "I should be getting back to work really....could you post this for me?"

"Sure." Greg said, taking the large envelope and smiling warmly. "Nice talking to you Andrew." The man flashed him one more flirtatious grin, before returning to his work. 

Standing up, clutching the envelope, he went in search of the mail room. There had to be one around here, surely? During his search, he came across a small kitchen, totally empty. A kettle sat in the middle of the counter, just tempting him to steam the letter open.

"Fine." He muttered, placing the letter on the counter and filling up the kettle. While he waited for the kettle to start steaming, he studied the envelope of the letter. There was nothing suspicious about it at all. It wasn't like it was written in blood, or addressed to a terrorist cell. Holding the steaming kettle up to the envelope, he managed to prise it open without tearing it. Inside was a letter, addressed to another member of government. It contained a draft of a speech for a prime-ministerial candidate. It was an unsuspicious as the envelope. 

So Andrew wasn't a suspect, for now.


	4. The Umbrella

Heading towards the door for lunch, Lestrade let out a loud sigh. It was raining. Typical of London, of course, however this was worse than regular rain. This was the rain that was so heavy and violent that standing in it for one second would leave you absolutely drenched. And Lestrade had to go for a ten minute walk to get some lunch. As he went to step out into the rain, a black car pulled up in front of him. The smartly dressed chauffeur stepped out, putting up a large black umbrella, before opening the back door. 

"Get in." Mycroft said, turning to face Lestrade from inside the plush car. Lestrade was tempted to just ignore the man, and set off on his own. However, the chauffeur was already standing next to him, holding out the umbrella to shield Lestrade from the rain. He didn't really fancy getting his new, albeit hideous, suit sodden.

"What is it now, Mycroft?" Lestrade grumbled, getting into the car and nodding his thanks to the chauffeur. 

"I just wanted to see how you were getting on, Gregory." There was a slight smirk on his face, as he took in Lestrade's new appearance. "I'm rather fond of the new look, by the way." Lestrade scowled at him.

"I look ridiculous!" He moaned, looking with disgust at his clothes.

"Nonsense, Gregory!" Mycroft protested. "You look positively...."

"Stupid?" Lestrade interjected, earning a disapproving look.

"I was going to say dashing, but there we are." Lestrade squirmed in his seat a little. It was rather uncomfortable being called dashing by another man. Especially Sherlock's rather odd brother. "So have you made any progress?" Mycroft asked, peering inquisitively at the man.

"I haven't even been there for a day, Mycroft! How the hell am I supposed to make any progress?" Lestrade exclaimed, but got completely ignored.

"Well have you learnt anything at all about your new co-workers?" Lestrade paused for a minute, pondering what he had learnt that day.

"I've only really spoken to some guy called Andrew, but he seems like an alright bloke. I did steam open one of his letters, but it wasn't suspicious or anything."

"Good initiative." Mycroft murmured, raising an eyebrow at the man's surprising ingenuity. Lestrade smirked a little, did Mycroft just compliment him. All of a sudden, a loud grumbling noise filled the car.

"Sorry," Lestrade said, somewhat sheepishly. "I haven't eaten anything yet." Instead of looking outraged, as Lestrade had expected him to, Mycroft looked rather amused by lestrade's stomach rumbling. As Greg said this, the car drew to a halt.

"Here we are then, Gregory. Go and get yourself some lunch. I'll be checking in with you later this evening." The door opened, and Greg looked with annoyance at the downpour of rain outside. "Here." Mycroft said. "Take this." He handed Lestrade his umbrella, and watched him get out of the car.

Lestrade turned to say thank you, however the car had already driven off, and he was left standing alone in the rain. 

Mycroft had given his umbrella. An object that never left his side. Surely that meant something? Lestrade just couldn't quite work out what.

 

*********

 

"See you later, Vince" Stephen said, sending Lestrade a flirtatious wink. He brushed past him, sneakily pinching his arse as he did so. Stephen was the biggest flirt of the office. He'd been making eyes at Lestrade the entire day, and it was starting to disturb him somewhat. However he still wasn't suspicious. 

Lestrade's day hadn't been anywhere near as horrific as he'd expected. Pretending to be a secretary was far less stressful than being a Detective Inspector, and it gave him a chance to relax rather a lot. The people he worked with seemed friendly enough, certainly in comparison to the criminals he'd spend the day with normally. Apart from the unwanted flirting, this job was actually rather enjoyable. But the brief encounters with Mycroft also reduced his job satisfaction. 

Stepping outside of the building, a small smile played on his lips, as he noticed the lack of rain. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, and although it was setting, it sent a lovely warmth across London. Swinging Mycroft's umbrella on his arm, Lestrade set off home. His mind free from the burden of murder cases. 

Lestrade's calm demeanour was ruined, however, once he got home. From his flat, which was supposed to be empty, and light shone, spilling out onto the street. A dark figure passed by the window, not noticing Lestrade. There was an intruder. 

Pulling his gun from the holster inside his jacket, Lestrade silently made his way over to the door. Turning the key slowly, he entered the hallway. Wincing as the stairs creaked ever so slightly, he crept cautiously up the stairs and towards his flat, holding the gun ready to fire in front of him. 

He entered his kitchen, once again unnoticed by the intruder, who sat at the kitchen table. Stepping silently across the room, he pressed the gun roughly to the back of the man's head.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" He asked gruffly. The man stiffened slightly, however once he recognised the voice, he relaxed.

"Is that how you treat all of your visitors?" Mycroft asked, tutting. "And I don't know what it looks like to you, but I'm rather certain that I'm drinking a cup of tea." The man turned around, as Lestrade lowered his gun, and gave him a condescending smile. While he'd been waiting for Lestrade to return home, he had brewed himself a cup of tea. Vile, teabag stuff, however tea all the same. And he continued to sip it elegantly. 

Though he may never admit it, the gruff tone that Lestrade's voice had taken, was rather...appealing. Along with the use of the gun. In his line of work, Mycroft had met many men of power. Men with powerful words, and men who were physically powerful. He, himself, was a man with powerful words. However Gregory was the first man he had ever met who was both powerful with words, and powerful physically. And it was rather intriguing.

"I meant, what're you doing in my house, Mycroft." Lestrade scowled. "And I wouldn't piss me off so much mate, I am the one with the gun." He gestured to the gun in his hand, and blank expression on his face.

"Oh, please, Gregory. You wouldn't shoot me." Mycroft drawled. He was rather unsure about that though. Lestrade's current expression was hard to read, and he was well aware of the temper the man had at times.

"Don't tempt me." Lestrade muttered, flicking on the safety, and putting the gun away.

"You really should invest in better tea." Mycroft commented, taking another sip from the cracked mug.

"If I knew I was havin' company, I might. What are you doing here anyway, Mycroft?" He asked, walking over to the bare kitchen and pouring himself a small glass of scotch.

"I was just interested as to whether you'd made any progress, Gregory." He replied, matter-of-factly. 

"Wasn't that what that thing at lunch was for?" Lestrade asked, downing the glass of alcohol in one.

"Am I not allowed to inquire more than once a day?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow. Lestrade wasn't certain, but it seemed as though Mycroft was....teasing him. In a similar way to how he teased Sherlock. However it seemed almost flirtatious....

"No, I'd rather you didn't really. Talking to you always seems to piss me off. And I don't know what progress you'd expected from just a couple of hours. Nothing suspicious happened. Although, it's a bit weird that all the blokes you employ are gay. Is that your thing?" Lestrade asked, peering inquisitively over his glass. 

When he recieved a glare in return, he smirked slightly. If Mycroft was going to wind him up, then he was going to do it in return. "Sorry! Touched a nerve have I?" He teased. 

"Don't be so childish Gregory." Mycroft muttered, before standing. He continued to look grumpy, attempting to hide his true feelings. He rather enjoyed the jesting and snide comments from Lestrade. To him, they were almost flirtatious. And as a man who'd been single for most of his life, that rather excited him. But he would never let Lestrade know that, just incase he'd been wrong about the flirtatious aspect of it. 

"Leaving so soon? But I was just starting to enjoy myself!" Lestrade said, unsure himself as to whether he was being sarcastic or not. Mycroft really did irritate him. But there was part of him that enjoyed that. He quite liked the conversations they had. 

"I expect a little more progress tomorrow Gregory." And with that, Mycroft flounced out of the room. 

"What about your umbrella?" Lestrade called after him.

"Keep it!" Came the reply. 

This whole umbrella thing definitely meant something, thought Lestrade. However he still couldn't work out what.


	5. Ignoring and Threats

A gentle voice awoke Lestrade from his slumber. After yet another day at his irritating new job, he'd managed to fall asleep whilst clock-watching. He'd been working there a month now, and the change in routine from his other job was taking its toll. Wiping drool off of his rather garish new suit, he turned to the man who was talking.

"Y'alright Vince?" The man asked, smiling warmly at him. He was the least pompous man in the building, and was in fact rather butch. But the twinkle in his eyes as he smiled at Lestrade made it obvious that he too was gay.

"Yeah, just tired mate." He smiled back at Lucas, running a hand across his rapidly growing stubble.

"Ah, stayed up all night, did we? Who's the lucky fella?" Lucas asked with a wink.

Lestrade rolled his eyes at the comment, but chuckled all the same. He found Lucas the easiest to get on with out of the whole office. He was easygoing, and laid back, which was very similar to Lestrade himself. "This job finishes way earlier than my last one. It's messin' with my head, I went to sleep at eight last night!" Lestrade exclaimed. Compared to being a detective inspector, this job was easy. He has short hours, and stress free ones at that. It was giving him way too much time to be lazy.

"Why don't ya come out with me tonight? I promise to keep ya up all night." He winked once again. If the other men in the office had said this, then Lestrade would have felt rather uneasy. But with Lucas, he didn't fear so much that he was going to be molested, so he could take the flirting.

"All right then, it's a date." He replied with a grin. If he needed to work out which one of these people was selling secrets, then he would have to get to know them more intimately. And if that meant going out with them, then so be it.

 

*************

 

"Thank God for that!" Lestrade grumbled, walking out of the building that evening with Lucas. "If I'd stayed there much longer, I think I might have just tried to top myself from boredom." He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to remove his sleepiness. The laziness this job was causing was dangerous. Lucas chuckled.

"Tell me about." Lucas grinned. "If I have to write another bloody speech for another stupid MP, I think I'll scream." Lestrade laughed. He considered Lucas to be a friend now, and he was certain that he had nothing to do with the information leakages. 

As the pair stepped out of the building, another of Mycroft's black cars pulled up in front of them. However instead of getting in, Lestrade simply ignored it was there, and followed Lucas.

From his first day, the phone calls, unexpected home visits and black cars from Mycroft had become more and more frequent. So much so that a week ago, whilst on the phone to the man, Lestrade lost his temper and told Mycroft to "Piss off and stop bugging me!".

Since then, Lestrade had refused to answer any of his phone calls or texts, or get into any of his cars. Mycroft had stopped turning up at his house, as the last time he did, Lestrade ignored him until he left. He was sick of Mycroft's attention. It was driving him insane!

"So where we going, mate?" Lestrade asked Lucas, trying to forget about Mycroft. He signed up to find the inside informant, not to become Mycroft's latest obsession.

"Oh I know the cutest little pub down the road!" Lucas exclaimed, causing Lestrade to laugh. "What're you laughing at, Vince?" He asked, frowning slightly. 

"Sorry, it's just, you normally act so butch, but sometimes you come out with the most flamboyant things. It's hilarious." He grinned at Lucas, just so he knew there were no hard feelings, before following him into the cab he'd just called.

 

*********

 

"Mine's a pint!" Lestrade called after Lucas as he went up to the bar. While he was gone, he declined the seventh phone call from Mycroft that day. 

"Here you go." Lucas said, flashing Lestrade a flirtatious grin as he passed him a beer.

"Thanks love." Lestrade gave him his most charming smile and winked, watching amused as a blush creeped up his neck. 

"Who's that then?" Lucas asked, as his phone began ringing again. "And don't say no one! The same person's been ringing you all day!" Lestrade sighed.

"It's just some bloke, he won't leave me alone." Lucas looked concerned.

"Is he stalking you or something?" He placed his hand on lestrade's in a reassuring manned.

"Kinda. Look, don't worry about it Lucas, I can handle myself." He sent Lucas another wink, to lighten the mood. He blushed yet again. Lestrade's phone began buzzing, as a series of texts came through.

Why didn't you get in the car, again? -MH

Answer your phone. -MH

Do as I say. I won't hesitate to fire you. -MH

Don't ignore me. -MH

"That him again?" Lucas asked. 

"Yeah, sorry mate, it's kinda ruining things. " he gave an apologetic smile. "Anyway, you were right, this pub is cute, as far as pubs go." He grinned.

"Didn't I say? I have an eye for cute things. I should take you to this little Indian place in SoHo, the food is to die for, and it's so quiet!" Lestrade smiled. Lucas was really easy to get on with, their budding friendship seemed to be the only perk of his current job.

"That sounds good. I'll have to take you to the chippy near me, it's bloody amazing!" They shared a smile, but lestrade groaned as his phone rang, and then buzzed again.

I am serious. Answer your phone. -MH

Can't you take a moment out of your date to answer me? -MH

I'm warning you. Ignoring me for a whole week is not going down well. -MH

"Sorry Lucas, this guy just won't take a hint." 

"Why don't you answer him? He might stop if you tell him to piss off?" Lucas suggested. If only, Lestrade thought.

"Already told him that, didn't help." His phone buzzed yet again.

Your house. Now. Or I promise you will never work in Scotland Yard again. -MH 

Lestrade sighed. He couldn't ignore Mycroft much longer.

"Sorry mate, but I have to go. I'll make this up to you later, okay?" He offered an apologetic smile, kissed Lucas on the cheek, and then ran out of the pub. 

 

**********

 

A short taxi ride later, and he was home. He wasn't looking forward to this encounter. He walked up the stairs, only to find Mycroft standing in the hallway, arms crossed, scowling at Lestrade.

"Alright?" Lestrade asked casualy, ignoring the glare he was being given.

"You've been ignoring me, Gregory." Mycroft stated cooly. 

"Yeah, I know." Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"May I ask why?"

"You annoy me. I can't actually do a job with you having to check up at me all the bloody time." Lestrade grumbled.

"There's no need to be rude, Gregory. I was merely checking on your progress." Mycroft reprimanded.

"Yeah, but do you have to do it so often? You pick me up in your car twice a day, or you're at my house when I get home. You call me all of the time! How am I supposed to do the job, if you keep pestering me?"

"I don't pester." Mycroft hissed. "I merely inquire-"

"Yeah, well don't." Mycroft looked taken aback at Lestrade's rudeness.

"Don't talk to me like that. Do you understand that, Gregory? And if I wish to inquire a hundred times a days I will." Mycroft reprimanded. He wasn't used to being disobeyed. 

"Listen mate, I don't have to do everything you ask me to. If I want to ignore you when you 'inquire' then I will. I'm doing the bloody job aren't I? Ain't that enough?" Lestrade retaliated, raising his voice slightly. 

"Do not call me mate. And that is besides the point. From now on, you do everything I tell you. When I inquire, you respond. Or I'll make sure that you never get another job again, or that you spend the rest of your life I prison." Lestrade puffed his chest out, and stepped closer to Mycroft, towering over him.

"Are you threatening me?" He asked, Mycroft raised an eyebrow in response.

"Perhaps." Lestrade almost growled he was so angry. Why was it that Mycroft had the ability to annoy him more than any other person? 

"Perhaps?" Lestrade stepped towards Mycroft, forcing him to back up into the wall. "I don't care what status you have, Mycroft bloody Holmes, but you don't threaten me." Lestrade growled. Edging even closer to Mycroft.

"I'm sorry, are you threatening me now?" Mycroft's smug face just infuriated Lestrade even more.

"So what if I am? What're you gonna do about it?" There was a silence, as Lestrade had Mycroft pinned up against the wall. Both of them glared at eachother intensely.

"Let me go at once!" Mycroft shouted, ignoring how attractive Lestrade was when he was angry.

"Make me." Lestrade growled, his face barely inches from Mycroft's. They were so close that Lestrade was smothered in Mycroft's luxurious cologne. It was quite enticing. And the look of complete anger in the other man's eyes was quite exciting.

Mycroft tried to show as much anger as possible, as in reality he was quite enjoying himself. Lestrade's powerful arms had him pinned against the wall, and his warm body was pressed against his. Mycroft moved his head forwards slightly, so close to Lestrade now that he could feel his warm breath. He was incredibly tempted to just kiss the man, however he knew for a fact that it wouldn't go down well. Lestrade hated him. And Lestrade wasn't gay. 

Lestrade could have sworn that Mycroft was eyeing his lips. Surely he wasn't going to kiss him? There were barely millimetres between their lips now...

"Everything alright Sir?" Mycroft's Chauffeur called up, interrupting them.

"Fine." Mycroft responded, and then coughed awkwardly. "Well, I should really be going now." He murmured, still staring at Lestrade's lips.

"Oh, right. Yeah." Lestrade mumbled, releasing Mycroft and stepping away, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "Ermm.... We good now?" Lestrade asked, no longer wanting them to be at eachother's throats so ferociously.

"I suppose so." Mycroft replied, keeping eyecontact. There was another silence, a rather awkward one, and with that, Mycroft left.

 

************

 

When Greg went to walk out of the front door that morning, he found Mycroft on his doorstep. It amused him to see that he was wearing a tie covered in little black umbrellas, that matched perfectly with the apparently new umbrella he was leaning on. 

"Walk with me." The man demanded, starting to walk away from the door. Lestrade sighed softly. He'd thought that Mycroft might be a tad more polite to him, and perhaps not pester him so much, after the argument they had yesterday. But obviously not. As he went to walk in the opposite direction, Mycroft placed a hand softly on his arm.

"Please." Mycroft almost seemed in pain as he said that. He was the British government, he didn't have to plead for anything!

Mycroft was relieved that this time, Gregory listened to him. He didn't fancy another argument, as he was sure the man hated him now. 

"What is it, Mycroft?" Lestrade asked impatiently after a minute of walking. Mycroft seemed almost disheartened at the harsh tone Lestrade had taken. An emotion he experienced very rarely. 

"I merely wanted to see how you were."

"I thought you were gonna stop pestering me?" Greg grumbled. 

"I never agreed to that. And I'm not pestering you. This is the only time you will see me this week. I just wanted to see whether there was any animosity still between us." Mycroft almost seemed apologetic. Almost.

"Well you're still an annoying git. But you always are." Great offered a small grin, to show that he didn't hate Mycroft so much this morning. Mycroft nodded slightly. Was the man upset with him? This was strange. "Listen, mate-" he recieved a scowl. "-Mycroft. I'm... I'm sorry for pinning you to the wall and threatening you." Lestrade had to almost physically hold his mouth shut to stop him saying 'but it's your fault for being such a bloody annoying git all of the time.'

"You are forgiven." Mycroft replied, his lips quirkier upwards slightly in a kind of smile. It was good to be apologised to. Perhaps he could make Gregory beg for forgiveness...

"....you're supposed to apologise now as well." Lestrade said blankly. 

"Whatever for?" Mycroft asked innocently. I was almost as though he was trying to piss him off. But Lestrade wouldn't rise to it.

"Doesn't matter." He murmured, secretly wishing that he could punch the man in the face.


	6. Salad Niçoise et de la Guinée Fowl

"Well isn't this nice." John said sarcastically, surveying the living room of 221b Baker Street. Sherlock and Mycroft sat at opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other like a couple of children fighting over a toy. 

"What're you doin' here anyway, Mycroft?" Lestrade asked, carrying a tray of tea through from the kitchen, and passing a cup to the man.

"I could ask you the same thing." He said cooly.

"Well John's my mate. And Sherlock, I guess." He added quickly, when John nudged him. He was so protective over Sherlock. "Aren't you two like arch enemies?" He asked with a smirk. Arch enemies. The idea was ridiculous, but he wouldn't expect any less from the Holmes'.

"Am I not allowed to check in on my little brother?" Mycroft asked innocently.

"No. What are you up to Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, trying to read his brother like a book.

"I have a case for you." He simply stated.

"No." Sherlock said abruptly.

"You don't even know what it is yet." Mycroft protested.

"No, Mycroft. Whatever it is, no." Sherlock said stubbornly. 

"You're so childish. If it were Gregory who mentioned it, you'd agree to help. Are you really so petty as to refuse, purely because it's me?"

"Yes. Get out." Mycroft raised an eyebrow in amusement at his brother. "You too Lestrade." Lestrade looked at him in disbelief.

"What? What have I done?" Lestrade protested, but Sherlock ignored him. He looked at John for support, but John just shrugged. Begrudgingly, Mycroft and Lestrade got up, however not quickly enough. Sherlock marched them out of the room, and shouted after them.

"Out!" Lestrade grumbled all the way down the stairs. Sherlock had some serious problems.

They both stood on the pavement outside, a bewildered look on Lestrade's face.

"Your brother is a nutter. What was that about?!" He exclaimed, causing Mycroft to smirk slightly.

"Ah, the mysterious behaviour of brother dearest. I fear we shall never know." Mycroft's lip twitched slightly, as though he wanted to smile. His brother's antics, though often inconvenient, were always amusing. He wondered how it must be to be inside his head.

Lestrade chuckled, a genuine chuckle. Over the last two months, conversation had been forced between the pair of them. They tended to make jokes at the other's expense, and there were many uncomfortable silences. However today, it wasn't as awkward. For the first time, Mycroft had heard Gregory laugh. A proper laugh. And it almost warmed the Iceman's heart. 

"So where ya going now, Mycroft?" Lestrade asked, looking up from his phone. John had texted him, apologising for Sherlock's behaviour. But it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

"I've obtained a reservation for dinner. And you, Gregory?" Even when saying he was grabbing a bite to eat, Mycroft always sounded extremely pompous. 

"I'm gonna go home. Watch a bit of telly. See if I can find some food somewhere in my kitchen, and then cry myself to sleep." Lestrade grinned a little. His life must seem so boring to Mycroft. It was about as mundane as possible. And lonely. He and his wife had been separated for almost two years now, and Lestrade had been alone ever since. Going to sleep every night next to no one was starting to get depressing.

"How...quaint." Mycroft said, unsure of how else to respond.

"You don't have to pretend, Mycroft. I know my life is bloody boring." Again, the Detective Inspector grinned. Mycroft admired the way the man could joke about himself. It was refreshing.

"You could join me for dinner, if you wish." Mycroft meant it as an almost friendly gesture, however it did sound like he was asking Lestrade out on a date. Oh dear...

"Are you asking me out, Mycroft?" Lestrade quirked an eyebrow. This was most unusual of the older Holmes brother. 

"Don't be absurd." Mycroft quickly replied, annoyed at how harsh he sounded. "I merely need to inquire some more about how the job is going. And considering I'm already going for dinner, and you seem to be lacking in food at the present, it make sense for you to come too." Lestrade looked unsure. Dinner, with Mycroft?

"Ermm...." He chewed his lip slightly, working out what to do. A gesture that Mycroft found quite enticing.

"Surely you aren't going to turn down a free meal, Gregory?" Lestrade smiled again. He could never turn down free food. 

"Alright, if it's free, I'll come." Once again, Mycroft's mouth quivered into an almost smile, as Gregory gave him a grin. As he said this, one of Mycroft's cars pulled along side, and the Chauffeur stepped out.

"Sir." He said, tipping his has at the two of them, before opening the door.

 

************

 

"The hell is this?" Lestrade asked, peering very closely at the menu. All of the meals were written in loopy, scrawling letters, and he was pretty certain none of them were in English.  
"I believe it's the menu." Mycroft smirked, reading his own menu through a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles that sat on the end of his nose. The glasses, Lestrade thought, rather suited the man. In a quirky kind of way.

"I know that!" Lestrade grumbled. "Is this in French? How am I supposed to read it if it's in French?" Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"There's no need to get worked up, Gregory." He tutted, causing Lestrade to glare at him.

"I can't understand any of this!! Homard? The hell is that?" He exclaimed.

"Lobster. Homard means lobster." Mycroft replied, in a flawless French accent. "Why don't I order yours for you? It'll surely be easier."

"Alright. Just nothing too frilly, I actually want to have more than three forkfuls of food." He grumbled.

"Of course." Mycroft humoured him. Lestrade did get annoyed about such petty things.

"Êtes-vous prêt à commander, monsieur?" The waiter came over, also speaking such flawless French that Lestrade couldn't understand.

"Oui. Une bouteille de votre meilleur vin rouge, et une pinte de bière." Mycroft replied. He spoke with fluidity that it seemed as though French was his mother tongue.

"Et pour manger?" As the waiter said this, he sent Gregory a cold glance. In such a prestigious restaurant, he looked very out of place. Compared to Mycroft, he looked like a slob. The other man was wearing yet another three piece suit, the tweed fabric immaculately ironed. His hair was slicked back, not a single hair out of place, and he was clean shaven. Lestrade on the other hand was wearing a pair of tight fitting jeans, and a crumpled shirt. His hair was sticking up in brown tufts, the original grey starting to take over, and his face was covered in two day old stubble. Were it not for his company, someone may have asked him to leave.

"La salade niçoise pour moi, et de la Guinée Fowl pour lui." The waiter nodded, took their menus, and walked away.

"What am I having? Because I followed none of that." Lestrade grinned. He whole face seemed to light up when he did. It was rather endearing.

"You'll see." Mycroft said mysteriously. Everything about the man was mysterious. He called himself the British government, but he and no idea what that mean. Surely the actual government is the British government? 

"You speak very good French." Lestrade noted, after taking a sip of his beer. He was surprised that Mycroft had ordered him such a thing. Surely they only drank wine here. The other man took a sip of a deep red wine, closed his eyes as though savouring the taste, and then replied.

"I do. I'm fluent in many languages. It's part of my job." How Un-modest, Lestrade thought. 

"Really? What do you speak?" It surprised both of them how polite their conversation was. It was almost as though they were friends. 

"Well French and English, obviously. I'm also proficient at German, Italian, Mandarinŷf, Spanish and Latin." Lestrade's eyes widened in almost disbelief. That was very impressive.  
"Wow. All I can speak is English, and I'm not even too good at that." Lestrade grinned again.

"Nonsense Gregory. Your English is more than adequate." Mycroft reassured him. Lestrade just chuckled. That didn't make him feel much better. Mycroft used words like adequate, when he called everyone he met mate. In comparison, he was like a talking monkey.

 

***************

 

"So have you made any progress, Gregory?" Mycroft said, after starting his second glass of wine. It took Lestrade a while to work out what he meant. Oh yes, the job. That was what they were there to talk about, after all.

"Well I've become pretty good mates with this guy called Lucas. And I'd rule him out as being the information leak." Mycroft raised an eyebrow, as to ask him to expand. "Well, my professional opinion is that whoever is selling information is an amateur. I mean, you found out that they were, so they've definitely not done it before. I've been round Lucas' house a couple of times. If he were the leak, then there would be some kind of evidence in his house, so he wouldn't have invited me round in the first place."

"So who do you suspect?" Mycroft asked, sipping his wine like it was nectar. Lestrade pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, and smoothed it onto the table. It had something written in it, however due to the scruffy handwriting, it was indiscernible. 

"So I had the yard get me all the information on the guys in the office. It's taken me until now to sort though it all. Three people stand out; Andrew, Stephen, and Christine." Again, Mycroft gave him a look, imploring him to go on. "So whoever they're selling the information to will have approached them, right? Seeing as its their first time. They'd choose someone unsuspicious. Someone with a perfect record. These three people have got the perfect records. No speeding fines, no late bill payments, nothing. They're so innocent sounding, they're suspicious." 

"Is that all?" Mycroft asked blankly. It was a fare amount of information, however he wasn't particularly impressed.

"I was getting to something, actually." He reprimanded. "So I did some digging of my own. Cos whoever's getting paid for information surely needs it for something. Otherwise they wouldn't have randomly started selling secrets now. Andrew, Christine and Stephen all have family members critically ill somewhere. Andrew's brother has Huntington's. There's a trial starting in January for a possible treatment, but it costs £100,000. Stephens sister has early onset Alzheimer's, and there's another trial for that starting in Feburary, that costs £60,000. And Christine's son has terminal pancreatic cancer. There's yet another medical trial for it, costing £90,000. How about that?" Lestrade asked smugly. He had managed to shorten the suspect list to three, with very little evidence at hand.

"Impressive..." Mycroft murmured, and much to Lestrade's surprise, he was being sincere.

"Voici votre nourriture, monsieur." The waiter interrupted their conversation, placing a small bowl in front of Mycroft, and a large plate in front of Lestrade.

"Ishftatawlyirhavn?" Lestrade asked, through a mouthful of food. After a disgusted glare, he swallowed the food before asking the question again.

"Is that all your having?" He asked, gesturing at Mycroft's tiny portion of salad, with his knife. 

"I'm on a diet." Was all Mycroft replied, before eating a forkful of rather unsatisfying salad. He tried to refrain from looking at the delicious food on Gregory's plate, as he was worried he'd start drooling.

"You? On a diet?" Lestrade scoffed, earning a look of surprise from the other man. "Mycroft, you don't need to diet!" He exclaimed. Was he complimenting him? Mycroft thought, somewhat perplexed. Mycroft went to protest, however Lestrade stopped him. "This isn't something you can debate. You're fine as you are, so stop starving yourself."

Now Mycroft was really confused. Was that a compliment, and concern? Was Lestrade treating him like a friend...?

"Here, take some of this." Lestrade said, interrupting his thoughts. He had swapped Mycroft's untouched salad, for his half eaten guinea fowl. "And don't say you're not hungry. I can hear your stomach from here." Lestrade grinned, as Mycroft began to wolf down the meal, almost forgetting his own manners. Lestrade watched him, smiling in amusement.

"I believe I forgot my manners. Thank you, Gregory. That was most kind." Lestrade chuckled, yet another one of his real husky chuckles, that made Mycroft's stomach do strange things. 

"No problem Mycroft. Just make sure you eat something tomorrow, alright? Because I won't be happy if you eat all of my food again." He gave Mycroft a cheeky grin, one that Mycroft's lips quivered in an attempt to return.


	7. Good Old Fish n' Chips

When Lestrade left work that afternoon, he found Mycroft standing outside in the cold, smoking. On top if his usual three piece suit was a charcoal coat, all sleek lines and perfectly fitting shapes. Only he could make a coat look elegant, Lestrade thought. The tip of his nose was turning link from cold, and it was the only thing that made him look like a relatively normal human being, rather than an emotionless albeit elegant robot.

"That's a dirty habit, ya know." Lestrade stood next to Mycroft, a cheeky grin on his face. A thick woollen scarf was wrapped around his neck, and he had his coat collar turned up. Despite Mycroft's insistence that he re-dye his hair, Lestrade's hair was now back to it's usual silvery self. A pair of fake glasses sat on his nose, a look that rather suited the man, he thought. He looked absolutely bitten by the cold, pink patches forming on his cheeks and nose. Mycroft resisted the urge to go over and warm him up, and instead took another drag from his cigarette.

"Been trying to quit myself actually. Have you tried smothering yourself in nicotine patches?" He asked earnestly.

"Whoever said I wanted to quit?" Mycroft said, closing his eyes and exhaling the smoke. "It does wonders for stress. It's cigarettes or....call girls. And can you honestly see me doing the latter?" Lestrade chuckled. He certainly couldn't see Mycroft having sex with anyone. Females in particular.

"So where've you been, Mycroft? I haven't seen you in what, a month?" It was strange. They'd gone from having a meal like friends, to not speaking for an entire month.

"That is none of your concern, Gregory." Mycroft said cooly.

"Secret Government business, eh?" He replied, winking. Once again, Mycroft's stomach did strange things. "Don't worry, I won't pester you. See you later." He patted him on the arm, and then began to walk away. 

Once several feet away, he stopped walking, and turned to see him staring after him.

"I'm getting fish n' chips. Come on, let me buy you some." Mycroft looked perplexed at the offer, and blinked at Lestrade, mulling it over. "I've gotta repay you for that meal somehow." He persisted. "Look, either you come willingly, or I'll drag you there myself." He grinned.

"I'd like to see you try." He raised an eyebrow, as if daring him. From the mischievous glint in the Inspector's eyes, Mycroft knew that he very well would. 

Mycroft stood, arms folded and emotionless, as Lestrade walked back over to him.

"Gregory." He said warningly as the man got closer and placed an arm around Mycroft's waist, his hand on the small of his back. Trying not to recoil at the unexpected contact, Mycroft attempted to stand his ground. However as Lestrade began walking, physically pulling him along with him, Mycroft gave in. "I am capable of walking myself." He said bitterly, stepping away from Lestrade and walking alongside him.

 

********

 

"Well this is great." Lestrade said, grinning. He was slouched back against a wall, overlooking the river Thames. In his hand, a grease-sodden newspaper full of delicious smelling fish and chips. Mycroft sat curtly on a bench facing him, looking down with distaste at the fish and chips in his own hands. 

"It is?" He asked grumpily, picking up a wooden stick that was apparently a fork, and staring at it as though trying to learn it's secrets. 

"It's fish and chips, Mycroft. It's not gonna kill you. You'll love it if you try it!" He said, before shoving a handful of vinegar laden chips into his mouth, and smiling goofily. However, Mycroft still just stared at the food. "I'll keep staring at you until I do." Mycroft sighed. Lestrade really had him there. He was certain he'd start start blushing if he got paid any more attention.

"....I believe might owe you an apology for doubting you, Gregory." As much as he hated to admit, the fish and chips were as amazing as he'd said. 

"See! Told you you'd like 'em!" He exclaimed with a smile. "And they didn't cost nearly half as much as the meal you bought me. I guess that makes you a cheap date." He said with a wink.

 

"S...sorry?" Mycroft said between coughed, as he'd began choking on a mouthful of heavenly chips as soon as he heard the word date.

"You know, the saying 'cheap date'?" And suddenly it hit him, and he started laughing. "You....you thought I meant that this was a date?" Mycroft avoided his gaze in embarrassment. Of course this wasn't a date. Who would date him? "This would be a pretty rubbish date, don't ya think? If I were to take you out on a date, it'd been much better than this, trust me." Mycroft was once again shocked. Lestrade's only query seemed to be with the type of date. He didn't seem completely abhorred by the prospect of dating Mycroft. And that gave him a glimmer of hope.

"Oh I'm certain it would." He replied, a smile threatening to break through. Lestrade seemed a little shocked for a moment, was Mycroft flirting with him?

There was a long silence. Not and awkward one, but a comfortable one. They both were lost in their own thoughts. 

"She beautiful, ain't she." Mycroft looked up, annoyed with himself that he's made such a leap about Gregory. He was obviously not gay, judging by what he said. He was about to inquire as to who he was talking about, when he noticed that Lestrade wasn't staring at a woman, but instead the London skyline. "I don't think I'd wanna live anywhere else."

"Quite right." Mycroft agreed. As the British Government, he was incredibly patriotic. "Although I dare say, I have quite the soft spot for Switzerland." He noted 

"Really? Why?" Lestrade asked, sincere interest in his voice.

"It's exceptional for skiing." His face lit up on the subject of his favourite, and only, pastime. 

"I never thought you'd be a skier, Mycroft. Although I have to agree with you. Skiing is bloody brilliant." Oh, that grin, Mycroft sighed internally, and then instantly hated himself for acting like such a teenage girl.

"I have a chateau in the south that I retreat to in the summer. It's rather stunning." He said wistfully.

"Perhaps you'll have to take me there sometime then." Greg said cheekily, adding a wink for good measure.

"Perhaps I shall." Okay, Mycroft was definitely flirting with him. This was weird... But not entirely unenjoyable which was what surprised Lestrade even more. 

 

************

 

They'd been sitting there for a while, avoiding eye contact, when a rather bitter wind rushed past them.

Lestrade shivered violently, the sudden harshness of the cold hitting him. However his shiver was so violent that it caused him to lose his balance on the wall he was perched on, and topple off backwards.

"Gregory!" Mycroft almost shouted, rushing over to the wall, and hoping to a deity he didn't believe in that the man hadn't fallen in the Thames. He didn't much fancy jumping in after him, especially not in that suit.

"M'alright!" Came the response, after a loud groan. Leaning over the all, he noticed that the wall was situated next to a very tiny bank, covered in pebbles. And lying, sprawled on it was Gregory. "Gimme a hand then!" He grumbled, sitting up and reaching for Mycroft, before collapsing back onto the stones after a few seconds. 

"Are you quite alright?" Mycroft asked trying not to show his worry.

"Yeah, just give me a sec, I'm a bit dizzy." After a minute to compose himself, Lestrade attempted to clamber back over the wall, with the limited help of Mycroft. 

"Ah!" Lestrade hissed in pain, as he felt a gash oozing blood on the side of his head.

"Let me see." Mycroft demanded, swatting Greg's hand away, and peering at the cut. "Here." He passed the man a handkerchief to hold to the wound, and went to get out his phone. "I just need to phone for an ambulance." However before he could, Lestrade had grabbed hold of his hand and stopped him.

"No ambulance." He moaned.

"Don't be ridiculous Gregory, you obviously need medical attention." 

"No! I don't like hospitals." Mycroft looked at the man incredulously, and was about to protest again, when he saw real fear in his eyes. He really didn't like hospitals, so that was out of the question. Mycroft sighed. Someone needed to clean up the wound.

"My house isn't too far from here. I'll disinfect that for you when we get there." Lestrade smiled gratefully, but then grimaced with pain. "Can you walk?" He asked, as he noticed the man sway a bit on his feet. Lestrade nodded, but after taking two steps, stumbled into Mycroft. "Here." He said, with a strange gentleness, and draped Lestrade's arm over his shoulders before starting to walk.

Not even ten minutes later, they had reached the door of a palacious town house. 

Once he'd gotten Gregory settled in a kitchen chair, Mycroft rummaged around cupboards until he found a box of first aid things.

"Keep still." He grumbled, as the other man squirmed when he placed the rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton wool onto the cut. It had stopped bleeding now, so obviously wasn't too serious, however Lestrade's hair was matted with dried blood. 

After having cleaned the blood from his hair, he moved onto the blood that had dribbled down the side of his face. He placed one hand tenderly on the other side of Lestrade's face, and began to remove the blood. He was well aware of how close he was to the other man. He could feel his breath tickle his cheek, and Lestrade's nose kept brushing his face. He didn't realise until he'd finished that he'd been holding his breath the entire time, worried that he'd make an involuntary noise due to the close proximity to the Detective Inspector. 

Lestrade went to stand up, however Mycroft placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently pushed him back into his seat.

"I need to check for concussion." He murmured, quickly making the man follow a torch with his eyes. It looked as though he'd escaped with only a minor cut. 

It took Mycroft a little while to notice that he'd been staring into Lestrade's eyes for a long time. They were a warm chocolate brown, and far too mesmerising for his own good.

"Mycroft, I errr.... I should really be going now." Lestrade muttered, however he made no attempt to move. "Thank you for, you know." He gestured to the cut on his head, which was now covered in a small square of bandage. 

"No worry, I could hardly just leave you there." He said, with what Lestrade assumed was a smile, but really just looked like Mycroft was in pain. "Will you have any trouble getting home?"

"What?" Lestrade said, quite unintelligently. He'd been mesmerised by the other man's lips while he was talking. They moved so smoothly and elegantly, and his words just seemed to flow. "Oh. Nah, I'll just call a cab. See ya later Mycroft, and thanks again." He smiled gratefully at the other man and stood up. 

However once standing, he and Mycroft were once again in close quarters. They stood face to face, barely inches apart. By accident, not design, though for Mycroft it was a happy accident.

"Goodbye Gregory." He murmured, glancing into his deep, soothing eyes one more time, before stepping away.


	8. Christmas Drinks

Due to the recent discovery of listening devices in his office at the Diogenes club, Mycroft Holmes was now forced to work in one of his other, grimmer, rather smaller offices. It didn't exactly scream quality. Instead of his solid, antique mahogany desk, he was forced to use one made of thin and hideously coloured pine wood. There was no luxurious parquet flooring, but instead some cheap Lino. There were no tapestries or priceless paintings hanging on the wall, only an empty cork board void of pins or notes.

He sighed, and sat down in his rather uncomfortable regular office chair. He was used to the best of the best in his regular office. However as this office was the only one near to several places he had needed to go that morning, it was the one he was stuck in. The only upside of the worst office imaginable, was that it was situated in the same building as one undercover DI Gregory Lestrade.

The very same man who was leaning, palms down on the desk, facing Mycroft at that exact moment. 

"Whadda ya mean no?" He exclaimed. Any attempts at being seen as a strong figure not to be argued with were dashed by the very flowery shirt, and feminine coloured suit he was wearing.

"It's a very basic word Gregory, I'm surprised you don't know it." Mycroft said with a smirk. 

"Oh Ha bloody Ha." He grumbled. "Come on Mycroft, come with me for a drink. You have to!" As much as Mycroft wanted to spend time with Lestrade, he absolutely abhorred the idea of public drinking in Pubs, of all places.

"I have to do no such thing." He retorted cooly.

"But otherwise I'll have to go on my own, and I'd look like a right sad tosser!" 

"Isn't there someone else you could drag with you?" He asked wearily, rubbing his eyes with the base of his palms. It had been a busy day, and all he wanted to do was go home and rest.

"They're all busy getting ready for Christmas." He said matter-of-factly.

"Why aren't you? I'm led to believe that Christmas is a busy time for most people." Mycroft said, his distaste for Christmas apparent. 

"Yeah, people with family." Lestrade almost sounded bitter, and Mycroft knew he'd hit a nerve. However as he was dreadful at dealing with other people's emotions, he avoided eye contact somewhat awkwardly. Sensing that he'd ruined the conversations, the other man changed the subject slightly. 

"Come on Mycroft, just come with me for one drink!" He pleaded. His eyes wide, and he subconsciously pouted. Mycroft was unable to say no to that. 

 

"Is it imperative that I come for 'Christmas Drinks' with you?" He asked with a sigh.

"Yeah!" Lestrade said, a cheeky smile growing in his face. With one final sigh, Mycroft pushed himself from his chair, pulled on his coat, and dug his umbrella out of the umbrella stand.

"Fine." And he swept out of the room, coat flapping behind him. It reminded Lestrade of Sherlock, as he followed him.

 

*********

 

"And so I said, that's not even a gun!" Mycroft's lip quirked upwards, and he wrinkled his nose slightly, in what Lestrade assumed was a laugh. "You want another drink?"

They had been sat in the pub for almost an hour now, Greg had downed an entire pint, and Mycroft had finally finished sipping his malt whiskey. At first Mycroft had been reluctant to stay, the loud and tuneless Christmas music, and the rowdy drinkers had put him off. However a goofy smile from the Detective Inspector had soon changed his mind. 

"I couldn't possibly." He was well aware that alcohol was one of the most calorific things imaginable. He certainly should over indulge, it'd do havoc to his waistline. 

"Go on, it's Christmas." He said, nudging Mycroft's arm with his hip as he walked past. Mycroft looked away quickly, a slight blush forming on his cheeks from the contact.

"Don't remind me." Mycroft muttered. Several minutes later, Lestrade returned with another pint for himself, and a double of the finest malt whiskey for Mycroft.

"Gregory, are you trying to get me drunk?" He drawled.

"Why, is it working?" He asked with a wink, before taking a large sip of his beer.

This caused the other man to start choking, the whiskey spraying all over the table in a very inelegant manner.

"I do apologise." He finally muttered, after regaining composure, and wiping up the whiskey with a handkerchief. However Lestrade was almost pissing himself with laughter, causing the other man to glare at him. 

"Sorry!" He said, finally having stopped laughing. "Y'alright?" Mycroft nodded curtly, and stared into his glass as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. This made Lestrade feel a little guilty. 

"Listen mate, I am sorry for laughing. Honest!" He said earnestly. "You gonna stop sulking now?" The DI asked, the corner of his mouth curled upwards in a smile-come-smirk. 

"I do not sulk, Gregory." He said coldly, however Lestrade just continued smirking. "I believe you've gotten me mixed up with my younger brother."

"Well Sherlock could out-sulk a toddler, yeah. But you're a pretty good contender." Mycroft let out a soft sigh. 

"Gregory-" He was cut off mid sentence, however, as Lestrade averted his attention to the obnoxiously buzzing and ringing phone on the table in front of him.

"Ah, hold that thought." He said, accepting the call and placing the phone up to his ear."

"Ello?" He said cheerily, in the rough accent that Mycroft found strangely charming.  
"Greg."  
"Oh... Caroline." Up until that point, Mycroft had been full intending to not listen into the conversation. However the mention of the Ex-Wife, and the expression on Lestrade's face had captured his attention.  
"Where are you?" Her voice was nasally and high pitched, and had already started to get on both of their nerves.  
"The pub."  
"Who with?"   
"Do I 'ave to be with someone?"  
"Who with?" She asked, an accusing tone to her voice.  
"Just a mate, Caroline."  
"I don't believe you. Who is she?"  
"Not to be rude, but it wouldn't be any of your business if I were on a date, would it?"  
"I am your Wife! Of course it's my business!"  
"Ex-wife." He muttered. "What did you want, anyway?"   
"Money, Greg."  
"I'm not givin' you another penny, Caroline. You already have the house. Ain't that enough?"  
"Twenty years of marriage, and all I get is a poxy house. Do you think that's fair? Do you?!"  
"Well, I-" He went to protest, but she cut him off.   
"Because I can tell you, it isn't."   
"But I-"  
"Now I expect five grand by the end of the month, or there will be lawyers." She said coldly.  
"Five grand? How am I meant to get that?!"   
"Not my problem. Just get it." Greg sighed, and ran his hand through his dishevelled hair. Mycroft could see that he was going to give in. And he just couldn't stand for that.

"Oh for goodness sake." He muttered, before snatching the phone out of Gregory's hand and putting it up to his.

"That is simply preposterous." He drawled.  
"What? Who's this? Put Greg back on!"   
"Certainly not. I am....a friend of his. And I'm telling you now, he will not be giving you any more money, Caroline." He seethed her name in such a cold way that it made Lestrade shiver.  
"What? Sorry but who are you to tell me what is going to happen between me and my husband?!"  
"Ex-husband I believe would be the proper term. And I am merely concerned that you are going to, whats the phrase, bleed him dry? Tell me, was it not you who was the unfaithful one?"  
"What's that got to do with you?"  
"I'll take that as a yes. And which one of you was the one to file for divorce?"  
"Well me, but-"  
"Then it hardly seems like you deserve any more of Gregory's money. So would you kindly stop asking him for it?"  
"Alright, that's it. Tell Greg, I want ten grand, or I'll drag him through court again. Got that, 'merely concerned'?!"  
"I highly doubt your filthy little lawyers could do much damage. And if you so much begin dialling their phones number, I will know. And you will not like what happens. Is that understood Caroline?"   
"Are you threatening me?"  
"I would have thought that was obvious."  
"You can't do that!"  
"Oh but I can. Goodbye Caroline."

Mycroft disconnected the call, and looked up to see Lestrade staring at him, his mouth slightly ajar. 

"Do close your mouth Gregory. You'll catch flies." He quickly snapped his mouth shut, looking a little flustered. 

"I....err...I didn't realise you were so..."

"Forthcoming?" Mycroft offered helpfully. 

"Well yeah. You've gotta teach me how to argue with her. Cos she bloody terrifies me."

"She's hardly as frightening as you make her sound. I've met Canadian Politicians that have scared me more." He said, his lip quirking into a somewhat smile.

"And I've met serial killers that've scared me less." Lestrade said with a grin. It please Mycroft to see that he no longer got upset by his Ex-wife's antics. It at least gave him a little hope of the man moving on, and turning his affection to him. Just a little bit. 

"So are you going to this drinks thing at John's tomorrow?" Lestrade said, changing the subject. He peered at Mycroft over the top of his beer glass, whilst taking a sip. A stray bit of hair had fallen in his face, and Mycroft had to fight every urge to brush it away with his hand. 

"Perhaps." He said nonchalantly, trying to not look too excited at the opportunity to see a Lestrade again that week. He clenched his hands into fists slightly, trying to fight the urge to reach across the table and fix the other man's hair.

"Well then perhaps I'll see you there." He said with a cheeky grin and teasing tone.


	9. Gregory Lestrade's Infamous Christmas Curry

"Merry Christmas, mate." Lestrade said with a grin, as John ushered him in through the doorway. He clutched a bottle of crimson coloured wine in his hand, that he promptly thrust into John's, and then proceeded to unwind his scarf and unbutton his coat. 

"Thanks for the wine." John said, taking his friend's coat, and chucking it with the others on the coat rack. The tiny flat was bustling. People wandered past wearing jauntily coloured paper crowns, and carrying overflowing glasses of alcohol. Christmas music was playing softly in the background, overpowered by the murmurs and chattering of the people in the room. Christmas lights and tinsel twinkled all over the room. 

Most of said people, Greg recognised. Donovan stood in the corner, flirting with Anderson and DI Dimmock, all three of them receiving very unwelcoming glares from Sherlock. Sherlock sat slumped back in his armchair, grumpily surveying the surroundings. Every now and then, John would walk past in his gaudy Christmas jumper, and hiss at Sherlock to behave. Mrs Hudson was chatting happily away to any Scotland Yard member that wandered past her. 

"Help yourself to food." John said as he walked past, off to socialise with yet more people. At the sound of this, Lestrade's eyes seemed to light up. He didn't know there was food up until that very moment. Perhaps this party wouldn't be so boring afterall.

"Good Evening Gregory." Greg looked up in surprise as Mycroft appeared standing next to him, his hands clasped behind his back. To most, it would seem that the man had made no attempt to look Christmassy, as the others had done. Lestrade himself was wearing a deep red shirt that, unfortunately for Mycroft, was very tight fitting and flattering indeed. Greg, however, did notice something different about the way Mycroft was looking. 

"It's good to see you here, Mycroft, I didn't think you'd turn up. Lovin' the tie by the way." He beamed, as Mycroft looked with distaste down at the black tie, covered in tiny little images of holly. 

"I wasn't too certain I'd see you here either." 

"Free booze and free food. How could I miss it?" Lestrade gestured at the half-drunk glass of wine in his hand, before shoving the entire mince pie from his other hand, and into his mouth. 

Mycroft responded with a very strange look indeed. It was a mixture of disgust, disapproval and amusement, resulting in a series of eyebrow movements and lip quirks. 

"Here." Lestrade said, handing Mycroft a glass of red wine, their fingers brushing as he did so. It was only Mycroft who seemed to notice, as he avoided eye contact, incase he started to blush. "Cheers." Lestrade said with a grin, clunking his glass against the other man's, before downing the remainder of alcohol, and leaving the glass on a nearby table. Mycroft just gave him a bemused smile, and sipped timidly at the cheap wine. 

"Brother." A voice behind them drawled, causing the pair to break from their polite conversation, and look up at Sherlock who had dragged himself of his chair to stand with them.

"Alright Sherlock?" Lestrade said in a way of greeting, however he simply got ignored. 

"Sherlock." Mycroft gave his brother a curt smile, however the way he almost sneered his name showed the immense hostility between them. "Was there something you wanted?" He asked, arching an eyebrow. Sherlock merely stood there, studying the two men, his eyes narrowing.

"I am yet to work out what is going on here, Mycroft." He paused, as Mycroft appeared to be amused. "Something funny?"

"Your mind is getting slower then, brother dearest." He said coldly, receiving a fierce scowl.

"I know that something is going on, and I will get to the bottom of it. I hope you both know that." He went to walk away, however Lestrade stopped him. 

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" He exclaimed, the cryptic message making absolutely no sense to him. 

"You two." He stated.

"What about 'us two'?" Lestrade said defensively. At this point, all other conversation in the room had become hushed, so that they could listen into this exchange of words.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" John entered the conversation. 

"Tell me, Lestrade. Why is it that Mycroft... 'employed you' as you would say."

"I dunno. Why don't you ask him?" Sherlock turned his gaze to his brother. 

"Well?"

"I hardly see how that's your business." He said, the pair's eyes locked in a furious battle. Sherlock gave him the infuriating glare of a stubborn toddler, who wasn't going to get in until he got what he wanted. 

"Well it's only that in most circumstances, people are employed because they have a considerable skill or ability or qualification in a certain area. However Lestrade has no noticeable skills at all."

"Oi!" Lestrade protested, but to no avail. 

"Sherlock. What is your point?" Mycroft's voice was now so cold and hateful that it was painful to listen to. 

"Well that begs the question, why would you employ him at all? I have come to two possible conclusions. One; You owe Lestrade a favour. It seems unlikely, however, as you owe favours to no one. And even if you did, I highly doubt that Lestrade, as dimwitted as he is, would opt for such a method of repayment."

"Yeah, I think you've made it quite clear that you think I'm an idiot, Sherlock. No need to go on about it."

"What's the second conclusion?" John asked. 

"My brother has suddenly developed actual human emotions. And for some strange reason, enjoys the company of Lestrade."

"Sherlock." Mycroft said in a warning tone, giving him a look that could freeze blood. He knew exactly where this was going, and he did not like it one bit. 

"What's wrong with that?" Lestrade demanded. "You and John work together, and you're friends. I work for Mycroft, and we're friends. I don't see the issue?"

Mycroft wasn't sure how to take that. Was Lestrade really so oblivious of his feelings for him? Or did he ignore them, because they were unwanted? Did he pretend that he hadn't noticed anything to spare his feelings, or to avoid an awkward conversation? This emotions lark was too complicated. 

Sherlock grinned triumphantly. It was his 'I know something you don't know' grin, and Lestrade was very tempted to wipe it off of him. 

"You haven't noticed?" He asked Lestrade smugly. "I think I underestimated your idiocy." 

Lestrade clenched and unclenched his fists, overly tempted to punch his stupid little face. 

"Sherlock." This time, it was as though Mycroft was pleading Sherlock to speak no more. However Sherlock didn't listen to his request, and carried on his speech.

"He....how do I say it John? 'Fancies you'." The words seemed foreign from his mouth, however the message was clear. "The evidence is glaringly obvious. His dilated pupils, quickening breath-" Sherlock paused, as Mycroft gave him one last hateful look before spinning on his heel and marching out of the room, all eyes following him.

"He always was rather melodramatic." Sherlock stated, earning an irritated glare from Lestrade, and a whithering look from John.

After pulling his weight back onto his back foot, Lestrade then transferred his weight forwards, using the force to smash his fist into Sherlock's face, breaking his nose. Sherlock staggered backwards clutching his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers. John rushed to assist the man.

"You're a real bastard, Sherlock Holmes."

"So I've been told." Sherlock said, his voice muffled by his hands. Lestrade made a slight growling sound in the back of he throat, and clenched his fists as though preparing to punch Sherlock again. However he thought better of it, and instead marched out of the room to find Mycroft, hearing the familiar sounds of John scolding Sherlock as he did so.

 

********

 

"There you are mate. I was worried you'd left." Lestrade found Mycroft standing a little way down the street, leaning against a brick wall and inhaling deeply from a cigarette. He looked up at Lestrade, but that was all. 

He, much like his brother, was able to read most people as easy as a book. However at this time, Mycroft found it impossible to work out what Lestrade was thinking. At a time when it was imperative he knew such a thing, it was frustrating to say the least. 

If Lestrade had taken it seriously, then the possibilities were catastrophic. He might mock him, or ignore him, or think he were disgusting. He might pretend he hadnt heard about it to be kind, or because he was so repulsed he couldn't talk about it. Mycroft didn't even consider the possibility that Lestrade may then admit reciprocating feelings, because that was just ridiculous. He wasn't even sure that Lestrade had even taken Sherlock seriously, in which case he might not know about Mycroft's feelings at all. 

"I'm ashamed to say I punched him one." Lestrade said with a sheepish grin. He cradled his right hand with his left, as it began to throb and sting. Punching Sherlock had caused deep bruises to form, and several cuts littered his knuckles, tiny beads of blood pooling. 

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm surprised you didn't do it sooner." He smiled wryly.

"I really don't see how you could have survived a childhood with him, without murdering him." Mycroft chuckled. An actual chuckle, which rather confused Lestrade. He'd never heard an actual laugh from the man, only various snorts and noises. It was strange. 

"I did try, several times actually. Unfortunately I was unsuccessful." Lestrade laughed, however winced halfway through as the sudden movement had caused his hand to flare up rather painfully. 

"I would advise getting that cleaned up." 

"You're probably right. Who knows what I could catch from Sherlock's face." He grinned, before checking his watch. "It's still pretty early in the evening. Wanna come back to mine? I'm pretty sure I have a first aid kit somewhere. And the fridge is full, so there'll definitely be something to eat." 

Mycroft pondered the question momentarily. Licking his lips the way he did when he was thinking. Lestrade had shown no interest in what had happened with Sherlock, so surely that was a good sign. And he could think of no one else he'd rather spend Christmas Eve with. 

"Very well." He said, a smile playing on his lips. Lestrade gave him one of his goofy smiles, the kind that made Mycroft feel rather weak at the knees. 

 

********

 

"Tea?" Greg asked, as he walked through the door into his grimy flat, closely followed by Mycroft. Mycroft nodded politely, watching in amusement as Lestrade chucked his coat at a coat rack, missing by several feet, and leaving the coat lying on the floor behind him. In a much more elegant fashion, Mycroft unbuttoned his coat, and hung it perfectly on the rack. 

"Don't worry, I got the fancy stuff you like." Lestrade said, clicking on the kettle, and rummaging in a deep cupboard for a pair of clean, unchipped mugs. 

"Much obliged." Mycroft said, walking into the centre of the room and clasping his hands behind his back. 

"Make yourself comfy." Greg gestured to a rather dishevelled sofa, which caused Mycroft to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Lestrade strode purposefully across the room, to a coffee table. He bent down in his tight fitting trousers in such a way that Mycroft had to bite his lip and look away, to prevent any involuntary noises escaping. He rummaged around in the drawers for what seemed like forever to Mycroft, until he pulled out a little green bag full of first aid supplies. 

"Here, let me help you." He said, as Greg had spent several minutes trying to unsuccessfully fix up his hand. Greg handed him the antiseptic wipe, and Mycroft took his hand gently in his own, trying to ignore how much he enjoyed it, and began to clean the wounds. 

"This seems to happen a lot." Lestrade noted, watching as Mycroft began to wrap a bandage around his damaged knuckles. "How come you're so good at fixing me up?" 

"Sherlock was bullied as a child. I used to look after him." He said absently, placing the roll of bandaged back in the bag, and zipping it up. 

"You're a nice guy." Lestrade smiled warmly, placing his hand gently on Mycroft's. For a moment it was quiet, as neither men moved or looked away, apparently mesmerised. 

"I believe the kettle has boiled." Mycroft said softly, as the hissing of the boiling water had stopped. Lestrade watched as his lips moved fluidly, before snapping himself out of the trance, and getting up to tend to the tea. 

"Sugar?" Lestrade asked, pouring the water over tea leaves, and adding a splash of milk. 

"Sorry?" Mycroft asked, for a moment thinking that he himself was being called Sugar. "Oh, just one teaspoon please." Greg carried over a steaming mug of tea to where Mycroft was sitting at the table. He raised an eyebrow at the choice of mugs; one was covered in little cartoon orange cats, and the other had 'World's Best Copper' written on it. 

"You're in luck, Myc." He paused for a minute, as Mycroft gave him a perplexed look. Did he just call him by a nickname? Throughout his entire life, the man had never gotten close enough to someone to get a nickname. It was a significant moment, that Lestrade breezed over as though it were nothing at all.   
"You get to experience my famous Christmas Eve curry." Mycroft snorted at the 'famous'.

"Surely infamous would be a better turn of phrase?" He smirked slightly, enjoying winding the other man up.

"Oi, I'll have you know I make a bloody great curry." Lestrade defended. Mycroft continued to smirk, earning himself a mock-scowl.   
Lestrade began to wade through the contents of his fridge. Moving aside cans and bottles of beer, jars of pickled foods and jam, before pulling out an assortment of products. Chicken, tomatoes and natural yoghurt, amongst other things, got piled up onto the work surface next to him. Standing on tiptoes, Lestrade searched the cupboards for an assortment of spices. His shirt rode up slightly as he did so, revealing a thin strip of tanned skin, that Mycroft tried desperately not to look at. 

"D'you wanna help me?" He asked Mycroft, disappearing behind the table momentarily, and then reappearing with several bowls from one of the cupboards. "I wouldn't normally ask, but I'm kinda handicapped." He gestured to his bandaged up hand, before rolling up his shirt sleeves, and undoing the top buttons of his shirt as quickly as he could with his left hand. 

Begrudgingly, Mycoft agreed. With all of the care of a mother with her child, he removed his suit jacket and blazer, placing them gently over the back of a chair. He then removed his cufflinks -Umbrellas made out of solid silver - and rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbows. Such a look on Lestrade seemed normal, if not overly dressed. However on Mycroft, it looked alien, and as though he'd left home missing half of his clothes. Not that Lestrade minded, though. It made him seem more comfortable and relaxed and above all, human. 

"Wow, you don't even cry when you cut onions!" Lestrade exclaimed, watching as Mycroft precisely cut the onion into equal sized pieces, with an elegant slice of the knife. The other man shook his head slightly at the comment, keeping his focus almost entirely on the task at hand. 

Once he had finished, Lestrade suddenly appeared behind him to pick up the chopping board. To Mycrfot's immense discomfort, Lestrade seemed to feel the need to do this by standing so close behind him that the men actually touched, and putting his arms around the man to pick up the board. Mycroft froze, such intimate contact from the man he was....infatuated with was surprising, to say the least. And he was worried that he may do or say something they both would regret, if he allowed himself to move at that moment. 

"'Scuse me." Lestrade grinned, as he took the board covered in onions away, and then tossed them haphazardly into a saucepan.

Surely there were other ways he could have done that? Mycroft thought. He had realised many weeks before that Lestrade subconsciously made physical contact with everyone he was around. It wasn't done on purpose, it was just his way of showing friendliness. But to Mycroft, it was the most torturous thing imaginable. 

Several minutes later, the delicious smell of mixed spices flooded the room. Lestrade had inadvertently managed to rub some of the cinnamon through his hair, leaving the warm and comforting aroma following him around the kitchen, and driving Mycroft mad. 

"Could you stir in the Yoghurt, Myc? I've just gotta find some wine." 

"Myc?" Mycroft questioned, spooning the yoghurt into the sizzling saucepan, unable to keep his eyes off of the man galavanting around the room in search of a bottle of wine. 

"Oh, sorry. I can call you Mycroft if you prefer." Greg said somewhat sheepishly, running a hand through his hair and causing it to stick up in tufts.   
"Nonsense Gregory, I have no issue with the name. I was just confused as to why you called me it."

"Well your name's a bit of a mouthful. Myc is easier to say, and I didn't think you'd mind considering we're ma- I mean friends. I've said many times that you could call me Greg, seeing as its easier to say."

"I'll stick to Gregory, thank you." Mycroft went to move a stray hair out of his face, subsequently leaving behind a streak of yoghurt on his face. Lestrade chuckled, causing Mycroft to wrinkle his nose in confusion. 

"Come 'ere." He said, stepping forwards and wiping off the yoghurt with his thumb, leaving the two men standing incredibly close. There was another quiet moment as their eyes locked, both unable to make themselves look away. Greg coughed awkwardly. 

"I....err....I'd better check on the curry." 

 

********

 

"I told you I made a good curry." Greg grinned smugly, as Mycroft put a forkful of the meal into his mouth, and smiled with delight. 

"How on earth did you learn to cook this brilliantly?" He exclaimed, in as collected a manner as he could manage. 

"Don't laugh, but when I was a kid, I wanted to be a Chef." His cheeks reddened slightly from embarrassment, in an incredibly endearing way. 

"That does not make me laugh. I think you'd have made a brilliant Chef." Lestrade seemed a little taken aback by the compliment. The Mycroft Holmes he knew was normally very cold and practical. To get an actual compliment was unusual. Perhaps the man had emotions afterall? 

"Oh, well, cheers." He said sheepishly, the blush still not fading. He gave the other man a grateful smile, that began to thaw his heart. 

"So what happened?" Mycroft asked, referring to the fact that Lestrade was not a Chef, but in fact an excellent Detective Inspector. 

"I took a couple of classes, and my Mum taught me how to do the basics. I was gonna apply to college, but my Dad found out." He grimaced slightly, the unhappy expression not matching his usual personality. 

"Did he not approve then?" Mycrfot sipped his glass of wine, and peered at the other man inquisitively.

"He told me 'cooking is for pansies. And no son of mine is gonna be a pansy.'" Greg said in a gruff voice, imitating his Dad. 

"I remember having a similar conversation with my father, once upon a time...." Mycroft mused, before blushing furiously at the accidental statement. 

"Oh?" To his surprise, Lestrade actually seemed interested in knowing about Mycroft's life. He was the only person who had shown any interest at all, at it just made him fall for the man even more. 

"Let's just say he wasn't too enthusiastic about...my lifestyle choices." Mycroft looked away awkwardly, trying not to maintain eye contact for fear of what Lestrade was going to say. 

"Ah. I guess that means we have a lot in common then." Apparently Lestrade had understood exactly what Mycroft was talking about. And instead of some hateful or disgusted comment, he grinned at Mycroft, his eyes showing how unfazed and understanding he was. 'I should stop spending time with him." Mycroft thought, well aware that every time he saw the man, he found himself obsessing over him even more. 

"Sorry?" Mycroft asked, not quite understanding what Lestrade was referring to. Or rather trying to tell himself that he didn't understand, as to prevent him being hopeful. 

"If my old man knew who I err.... Was close to in my twenties, he'd have a coronary." Greg winked at Mycroft, effectively confirming what he was thinking. Greg was quite possibly bi, and that gave Mycroft hope, albeit slim, that the pair could perhaps eventually be together. Perhaps.


End file.
